


Why?

by cabritinho



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Child Abuse, Do not read if child abuse/victim blaming is triggering for you, Gen, This is not a happy fic., Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 02:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabritinho/pseuds/cabritinho
Summary: Travis asks his mother a question he already knows the answer to.





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Years! Have this fic and get fucked :).

A terrible convulsion possessed Travis's hands as he desperately rummaged through the medical cabinet. Anxiety hammered within him, and his attempt to stifle his weeping interfered with his breathing, a dull ache within his ribcage. Tears, mucus, and blood dribbled from his face. He would wipe it on his sleeve, had it not been tarnished with a repulsive dampness beforehand. Instead, he utilized his thumb to wipe the streaming tears that blurred his vision--but the tremors caused his hand to graze his cheek. He recoiled. 

His cheek was blotched in maroon and plum. In the midst of the contusion etched a bloodied lesion attributed to his father's wedding ring. It hurt like none other, the pain searing deep within his cheek, seeping into the very bone. 

"Where are they, where are they?!" he whispered to himself in a panic, toppling a pill bottle or two from the cabinet shelf. 

"If you're looking for the bandages, they're in the drawer beneath the sink." 

A yelp tore through his throat, and he jolted instinctually from his situation. His heel banged against the base of the toilet. 

But the voice had only been that of his mother, who had never once laid a finger on him. No--when given the option of fists or blades, she equipped cutting words, instead. 

Travis glanced to her only momentarily. It was within the little hours that her saccharine, motherly facade dissipated. Her dark arms were half-crossed with an elbow resting on the opposing wrist, and, in her hand, her nightly cigarette. She puffed upon it, the haze swirling from her lips. An eyebrow was inclined. Disparaging, hazel eyes trained onto her son. 

"Th... Thank you," Travis replied in a mumble, ducking his head to avoid catching her eye. He fetched the bandages from the drawer as told. 

"Anything to stop you from making all of that racket. Your father is trying to sleep." 

He swallowed the fearful lump in his throat. "Sorry."

He cleansed his face with tap water before applying ointment for infection prevention onto the gash. Out he rustled the cotton bandage from the worn box, cutting it into an appropriate square, and taping it on. 

Yet despite his efforts to ignore his mother, she remained. The stench of smoke filled the bathroom. His stomach churned. Every move was tense with trepidation, for he could feel her hawkish observation burning holes into his back. 

At the mirror he stared, looking at the horrifying mess that had been made of him. It was sickening, what his father could do without being dealt the repercussions. The tears welled within his eyes anew, and he clenched the rim of the sink until his knuckles paled. Despite his better judgement, he asked his mother quietly: 

"Mom? Why... Why does dad hate me?" 

"He doesn't hate you, Travis." The irritation was evident in her voice, sharp as it was. He flinched. 

"Then why? Why does he do this to me?" He tried to withhold his tears, lest they wet his freshly applied bandage, but he could not. His voice quivered, and his knees felt weak beneath him. "No matter how hard I try to be a good son and make him happy, it never matters. It--It's never enough! He'll always be disappointed!" He knelt, lacking the strength to keep himself upright. A hand remained risen to clutch the sink. His sobbing wracked his entire body. "He'll just hit me and hit me! Mom, I can't live like this! I could kill myself for that man and he wouldn't even blink! I hate it! I hate him!" 

"If you hated it so much, then you at least wouldn't insist on invoking his wrath. Your father can tolerate disappointments, Travis. You just act out of hand." 

"I--I don't--" 

"It's within his fatherly right to discipline you when he sees fit. If you behaved, none of this would be happening." 

"Mom, please--" 

"Honey, don't you see? It's always been your fault."

It hurt worse than any beating ever could. Why? Because he knew she spoke the truth.


End file.
